


Surviving the Holocaust

by rennerfan_1



Category: Het Achterhuis | The Diary of Anne Frank - Anne Frank, Holocauast, Schindler's List (1993)
Genre: Holocaust, Schindler's list - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22001641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rennerfan_1/pseuds/rennerfan_1
Summary: This is an original story with truth and history submerged in it's words.Irma Biermann is a young Jewish girl living in Berlin and in her teenage years she and her family, as well as many millions of Jews, are subjected to the persecution lead by the Nazis. Irma faces the hatred and destruction before being moved East and through this story, she recalls the daily struggles living under the Nazi regime and how she clings to hope.This story recalls the death and description of the Jewish people and recalls Irma's fight for survival.This story is purely for entertainment purposes and is not meant to cause offence to anyone. This story was created by an amateur historian who has a mild obsession with learning about the Holocaust.
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback as always is greatly appreciated.

The train hurtled along the tracks and the occupants in the cattle car sway from side to side, bumping into each other and pushing each other this way or that way. There is no space to sit down and everyone is miserable, worried about what the future will hold as they are sent to resettle in the east. Some talk of new beginnings that they were promised by the Nazi officers and other talk of stories and rumours they had heard before the Ghetto was evacuated of the majority of Jews. Living in the Warsaw Ghetto had been living hell for many and some hoped that their lives would improve. This is the story of a girl who survived.

****

We were once equals and suddenly we were the enemy. In one fell swoop we had lost everything. Our names became unimportant and our lives were turned upside down as Hitler's decrees and regulations became part of our daily lives, the Nuremberg laws were created to divide the Jewish people from everyone else and our identities became lost in the chaos of antisemitism. We were not welcome in public places like parks or restaurants and could not buy produce from the grocers, butchers or bakers. We could not study like our peers in school and were forced to sit at the back of the classroom and were ignored and taunted. Anyone with a Jewish bloodline in so many generations were also cast out from German society and despite all of this, my father taught us to still love Germany and it's people. 

My name is Irma Biermann and I am the fourth born out of five children to my parents, Gunther and Rivka. Father owned a bakery and my mother worked as a seamstress, my two eldest brothers, Rudi and Klaus worked in the bakery alongside father since they had left school and dreamed of being the next generation of bakers. My eldest sister Helga worked as a seamstress with mother and my youngest sister Frida was still at school. Our parents were not rich but they were comfortable with five children to feed and at the start of the troubles, Rudi turned twenty and Klaus turned seventeen, both dating respectable Jewish girls at the time. Helga was sixteen and was content with her life as she applied to study art. I had not long turned fourteen when Hitler rose to power and Frida had turned four. We lived in Berlin and our family was complete, then the trouble started and everything we knew was questioned.


	2. The Night Of Broken Glass

In 1938 Adolf Hitler passed a decree to eliminate all Jews from economic life, banning Jews from operating retail stores and carrying on a trade and forbidden Jews from selling goods from any kind of establishments- The livelihood of thousands were being taken away and that was only the beginning of things to come. 

The day father lost his business and livelihood is a day I shall never forget. He never got over it and often spoke of trying to bribe officials to remain open, to provide for his own family as well as his customers, but to bribe an officer or even suggest it was punishable by certain death. It destroyed father although he pretended that it didn't trouble him as much as it really did. Losing the family business was horrific and it happened in the most horrible of ways. 

Every Saturday I would go to the store with father and I would work as hard as I could, sweeping the floors and serving customers, helping bake bread or slice meats and arrange the shelves so they were presentable. Father would often allow me to have sweets from the glass jars behind the counter under the promise that I didn't tell mother he had gave me them. I always looked forward to a Saturday because I could spend time with father and he always promised to teach me everything he knew so that I could take care of the business when he was gone. But this one Saturday was different and heartbreaking. 

Father and I walked along the streets towards the bakery, greeting friends and neighbours and ignoring the Nazi decree posters that lined the streets. Groups of people would read the posters and then dash off to tell everyone else, but father never played attention to them when is children were there. We were almost at the bakery when a friend of father's stopped us in the street. 

"Gunher, I am terribly sorry about the bakery. The soldiers have took everything." The friend of father told us. "There was nothing we could do!"

"What is going on?" Father demanded. 

"Jews all across the country are not allowed to have businesses. Our livelihoods have been taken and under control of the Nazis." He told us. 

"They can not do this to us! How are we supposed to survive?" Father tried to hide his anguish. "I must find out what is going on." 

"Be careful, Gunther." The man warned him and leaned in close so I didn't hear, but I could. "There have been deaths. The soldiers are executing anyone who opposes or tries to stop them from taking their businesses. Be very careful, my friend."

Father hurriedly walked towards the bakery and he stopped dead at the sight before him. I stood in awe, suddenly very afraid. The windows of the bakery were broken and the door was on the floor. We stepped into the empty shell of our former bakery and we stood in shock. The shelves were empty and the glass crunched under our feet as we looked at what we can salvage. All the products we had sold for many years was gone and only a few dented cans remained amongst the broken wood and glass. 

"Papa?" I tugged at his sleeve. "Why have they done this?" 

"Shhh. We will talk at home." He says quietly. "We must take what we can and go. There is nothing we can do here." 

Father and I started to gather what we could from the mess when two soldiers demanded our attention. 

"Stop! You are taking property belonging to the German state." The soldier barked, his gun pointed at father's chest. 

"Please sir, I am just trying to salvage what I can for my family. This is....was my business." Father explained and was cut off. 

"It is the property of Germany and not yours, you Jewish scum. Now get out before I change my mind and shoot you!" The soldier demands. 

Father dropped everything he had tried to carry and quickly ushered me out of the store and down the street. It isn't until we are at home that father becomes angry at being treated and mother doesn't know what had happened. 

"Our business is gone. The Nazis have taken everything and has made it illegal for us to own anything or to sell from our own businesses." Father told mother. "How shall we survive?" 

"We shall survive like we always do and we shall do it in spite of everything that is being done to us." Mother told him and took him into the kitchen so they could talk. 

I was supposed to be listening to the wireless but I listened to their conversation. Father was worried and mother was doing her best to reassure him that we would survive. That night at supper, father went to his bedroom while we sat in silence at the table. Mother had prepared a lovely meal, but it did nothing to reassure us as I had told Rudi, Klaus and Helga. They too were worried as the next day, they had stones thrown at them in the street by non Jews who had once been friends. My brothers promised to find work so they could contribute towards food and coal for the fire, but mother told them not to worry as they would survive. It wasn't until the Monday following the Saturday that we lost the family business that I experienced the hatred of Jews for myself. 

Even at school there was a strange atmosphere between the students and as soon class was called, all the Jewish students were called to the front and were made to stand. There were nine of us in total and none of us knew what was going on and then it became clear when Mr Stroebel commanded the attention of everyone. 

"Good morning students. I have a very important announcement to make and everyone must take heed and obey. " Mr Stroebel begins. "We must follow the laws of our great nation during these dark times and work together for a better Germany. The Jews are Germany's enemy and we must stop them from taking over our great land. Go sit at the back you disgusting pigs." 

Mr Stroebel had always been a good teacher and we were confused as we went and sat at the back of the classroom, everyone's eyes upon us as we felt our faces burn with shame. Mr Stroebel continued to tell the rest of the class that we were not to be spoken to or acknowledged and then began the lesson. None of us could concentrate on the lesson because and it was made clear that our classmates had also turned against us. We were ridiculed and belittled, we were called names and were forced to stick together and were called atrocious names by people we had once called friends. A few of the girls cried as they were verbally assaulted while two of the boys were taken to the Headmaster's office for fighting.   
They were caned repeatedly and were made to scrub the floors after school. They rarely disobeyed the teacher again and stayed out of trouble. It was a few days later that we were told to compose an essay on why Jews were dirty and we were told that we also had to compose the essay and read it out to the class. My parents were angry and disgusted when I told them what we were asked to write and then to be subjected to listening to from the other students, but there was nothing we could do. We just had to write it and then tell it to the class. 

The next day, Mr Stroebel made all the gentile students go first and the nine Jewish students were horrified at the things we were being called. We were called dogs and filth, thieves and liars and we were told we were a waste of life and should be ashamed that we were Jewish. Mr Stroebel praised the students on their excellent penmanship and rewarded them with Nazi badges to wear proudly. Then it came to the Jewish students turn and none of us dared to go first. One girl, Chaya was distraught as she stood at the front of the class and was laughed at by the teacher and other pupils. Tears ran down her cheeks as she began reading what she had written. 

"My names is Chaya and I am a Jew." She tells the class and stops, holding back tears. "I am ashamed to be Jewish. We are liars, thieves and are vermin. We are not fit to be part of this great German nation. We do not deserve the kindness that we receive from many and should be treated like the rats that we are, thank you." 

Mr Stroebel applauded and the other students joined in and I felt sick to my stomach as I watched poor Chaya walk back to her seat trying not to cry with embarrassment. It was my turn next and I had written almost the same thing and my face burned as I stood there. I was embarrassed at having to talk about myself and my friends and family like that and my face burned with anger. I had known most of my peers for many years at school and had played with them, went to parties for their birthdays and this was how they were treating us for simply being a Jew. A few of them, the ones I had once been friends with looked at me with sympathy and I knew then that they didn't agree with what was being done to us, but they had to partake or risk investigations from the Nazi's police force. The rest of the day felt like a century as we worked our way through the lessons and it always came back to why the Jews were bad news, even in the Mathematics lesson. I learned then that whatever lesson we would have we would be subjected to this bullying. 

Leaving school for the day and going home had been the best part of the day and many of my friends, of course the Jewish ones were also relieved to be out of that toxic environment. But I was still hurting and angry as I arrived home and I threw my school bag onto the floor by the apartment door and sat at the kitchen table, groaning with despair. 

"What is the matter with you, Irma?" Mother asked.

Mother was busy kneading bread and the last thing I wanted to do was upset her. 

"It doesn't matter, Mama." I told her. "Just a bad day at school."

She instantly stopped what she was doing and sat at the table with me and took hold of my hand. 

"Come on now, tell me your troubles and then we shall have tea and freshly baked bread." She said with a smile and I relented and told her what had happened. 

"Mr Stroebel made us compose an essay as to why we were dirty and filthy for being Jewish and if we didn't do it, we were told the headmaster would punish us." I told mother and I grew even angrier at the look on mother's face. 

"Mr Stroebel was wrong to make you or anyone else do that, Irma. To treat another human being like that is horrible and I can not change what has been done, but I am giving you the choice to stay home from school to avoid these....new lessons." She answers after some careful thought. 

"I don't want to miss going to school because of it, Mama. I love school and I want to learn and have a good education and if I leave school I can't have that." I told her and squeezed her hand tightly. "The worst is over."

How I had been so wrong. 

We ate a hearty meal, washed and then relaxed in the sitting room before bed. Father listened to the wireless whole mama sewed and mended clothing. I sat and read a book that I found difficult to put down. Soon after, I went to bed with the memory of being ridiculed still fresh in my mind. I must have fallen asleep quickly because the next thing I knew I heard screams from outside of the window. I ran to the window and saw many men breaking the windows of shops. I fetched father and mama who were watching from the sitting room window, father's arm protectively around mother. 

"Papa, what's going on?" I asked. "Why are they breaking the windows?" 

"I don't know." He replies solemnly and pulled me closer to him with his other arm. "I don't know what is happening." 

We watched in silence as the hooligans broke windows, dragging the contents from the shops into the street and setting them ablaze. Friends and neighbours tried to stop the chaos and to protect their businesses but they were beaten with clubs and sticks. I watched in horror as old Mr Dresner, the book keeper was pushed to the ground and beaten with fists and frets from the thugs. Beaten, in pain and in astonishment he watched as the thugs carried armfulls of books and set then on fire. He cried and pleaded for them to stop but the thugs would not listen and wouldn't stop their attack. This continued for hours. Some homes had been broken into and items were broken, windows smashed and glass littered the street. Piles of ash from the fires showed very little that could be salvaged. It wasn't until the next morning that we saw the real devastation. The riot and chaos lasted for twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours of persecution. 

Father stood on the pavement in silence as he looked around at the broken windows and painted racial slurs against the Jews. The entire street was littered with the damage from the previous night and many families tried to salvage what they could. Everyone was crying, the wives of the shopkeepers, the shopkeepers themselves and their friends and neighbours. Sadness and anger filled everyone's hearts that day and for generations to come, they would remember what the Jewish people went through. Father told us we were to go with him to check on the family business and as we walked down the streets we saw more and more businesses vandalised and destroyed. We arrived at the store and father stood staring at the broken windows, the white paint with disgusting words over the bricks and a lot of the food had been trampled on and ruined, tins and jars of preserves lay smashed all over the floor. Father entered his store with hurt in his heart. Not one single item could be saved and it would cost a fortune to restock the shelves. 

"Papa?" I took his hand. "Why did they do this?" 

"It is because we are Jews." He croaked and squeezed my hand. "Come, we must do what we can to restore some sort of order in this chaos. Irma, once I have taken away the broken glass the floors will need scrubbed and swept. Go fetch the broom from the cupboard and we shall start." 

"Yes, papa." I answered and went to fetch the broom. "I don't understand why anyone would do this. There are so many businesses ruined by those men." 

"They are not men, they are animals. They destroy what they can not have." He told me as he picked up broken glass and battered cans. "It is going to take us all day to clean this mess up."

"I can help, papa." I had said with enthusiasm. It hurt so much to see my father hurting. 

"You are such a good girl, a strong young lady just like your mother. You will make a husband very happy when you are older." He said with a smile. "Let's get started and we shall hopefully be home for supper." 

We scrubbed, we swept, we organised and we salvaged what we could and put the shop back to some sort of normality. It took the whole day to clean and then father took note of everything that he would need to replenish the shelves and worked out how much it would cost. Of course this worried father because he suspected that the store could be destroyed again and again by those thugs. When we returned home Mother had prepared a delicious meal and tried to reassure father and us that everything would be okay in the coming days, then the conversation turned sour. 

"Mrs Wechsler's flower shop has been totally destroyed by those thugs and poor Mr Eppstein has a broken wrist and broken ribs. Thankfully it wasn't any worse!" Mother told us. 

The images of poor Mr Eppstein being beaten in the street with sticks and clubs by those thugs was still fresh in my mind. 

"The poor man is afraid to leave his house now." Mother added. "But he was able to tell who some of them were. They were Nazi supporters with pin badges on some of their coats. Irma, you are excused." 

I had known that mother didn't want me to hear whatever she knew, but father told her that I should be present as I needed to know what was going on. Grudgingly, Mother repeated what she had been told. 

"The Sturmabteilung were responsible for the riots. They burned down some businesses and homes and then they have destroyed the synagogues." Mother told us, upset. "People were beaten to death in the streets and others were shot in front of their families." 

"Their actions are unforgivable." Father said suddenly and comforted mother who was crying. "From now on, no one leaves the house themselves and we stay together. I have a feeling that this madness will not end for some time and I don't want any of you getting hurt." 

Later that evening, father told my siblings of what was to be done and they accepted his advice straight away. They too had seen the description of the mob and had seen the blood in the street. As a family we all decided to stay together no matter what happened.


	3. Relocation

Many months had passed since Rudi had been taken to Buchenwald and mother had remained poorly. She had withdrawn herself from every day life and shut herself away in the bedroom and I took over her duties as best as I could. I would cook and clean and look after my siblings, prepare the evening meal for my brother and father who had found work as well as taking care of my sister. I had often urged mother to eat and she would do nothing but cry. I realised that she was grieving but with more and more restrictions being placed upon us, I needed a mother to turn to. One evening as I sat and mended clothes, father returned from work and looked angry. I had tried to complete the household chores as best as I could and father knew this, but he was getting annoyed as all these responsibilities were being left to me. 

"Where is your mother?" Father asked me as he pulled off his coat. 

"In the bedroom." I told him. "Mama hasn't eaten today and I've been mending the clothes and dinner should be ready soon." .

"Thank you, I'm sure our meal will be delicious." He kissed my head and then went into the bedroom and closed the door. 

I had heard my parents disagree before, but I had never heard them openly argue and I had certainly never seen my father angry before. But that day, I heard father angry and I was alarmed because it was so out of chatacter for him and for his anger to be directed at my mother. 

"Rivka, what are you doing staying in bed all day when the children need looked after?" Father demanded to know. "You are their mother and they need you." 

"Rudi is gone, Gunther." She reminded him. "Our son is in some prison camp miles away and all we get is the odd letter that doesn't tell us much. We don't know how he is!"

"Rudi is not our only child, Rivka. Yes, he is miles away in a prison camp but you are worrying yourself into sickness. You can not keep doing this to yourself or our children who depend on you." Father explained and sounded rational. 

"You don't even care!" Mother screamed at him.

"Of course I care!" He shouted back at her. "He is my son and I worry about his wellbeing too, but I know that if I worry myself into sickness, then our children will have no one to parent them. You need to get out of bed, eat something and look after them. Irma has cleaned and cooked and is mending clothes, it should not be left for her to do." 

"She has been a good girl, but I am too weak and exhausted to do the chores, Gunther." She pleaded. "Please let me sleep." 

"You have been sleeping too long! This needs to end, Rivka. You are not alone in your grief but look at you. You have grown thin and if it weren't for Irma you would be unclean too." Father told her in no uncertain terms. "You either be a mother to your remaining children or you live somewhere else. I can not do this anymore." 

Father left the room and sat in his chair and lit his pipe. I could tell he was very angry and I had never seen him so. Years later I understood why he was so angry and why he was worried. Father later confessed that he had heard rumours that the Nazi's were sending Jews to Poland to be resettled as they had won their war against the country. I realised that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and was protecting us all by remaining silent until he knew more. 

Supper came and I had prepared a stew of mostly vegetables and a little meat that I had managed to purchase from a neighbour with a trade of a winter coat for her daughter who was the same age and just a little smaller than me. At some point I would have needed to have told father what I had done and he would be annoyed, but more upset that I had traded my winter coat for some meat. 

We sat down to eat, said prayers and quietly talked and we stopped for only a second as mother took her seat at the table. She was putting on a brave face and had clearly been crying again. Looking back, I would say mother was anxious and she admitted later on that her joining us was a worry because she didn't want to upset us. 

"Everything looks delicious, Irma. You are going to make a young man extremely happy with meals this good." She told me with a sad, but a genuine attempt to smile. "May I have some?"

"Of course, Mama. There is plenty for supper tonight and enough for lunch tomorrow. There's fresh bread too." I told her with a smile. 

I served her a bowl of the stew and she did her best not to cry. I knew that it was difficult for her to lose a child and have to live with the constant worry, but she was genuinely trying to be a full time mother again.

"Where is Helga?" Mother asked suddenly. 

"She is having super with Yeenj Gorath and then coming home." I explained. 

"It's nice to see she is being normal with all of this." She finally said and laid down her spoon. "Irma, I must apologise for the way I have treated you with.....Rudi being home. I should never have allowed you to be the one to take care of the house and your sister, but I am truly grateful for everything you have done. I am so proud of you." 

"I just wanted to help and I know you're hurting deeply, Mama. I just wish that Rudi was home too and we could go back to normal." I told her and hugged her tightly. 

"Once this war is over we shall have a party of great magnificence with all of our friends and family." Mother exclaimed entirely. "We will bake and prepare delicious meals and have music." 

"I don't think we should be making plans to celebrate just yet." Father interrupted. "We don't know when this will end or when our lives will return to normal." 

"It has to end some time, papa." I argued. 

"Yes, it has to end some time but we can't become complacent because things are changing all the time." He admitted with a sadness, worrying. "But I pray it will end soon. We must have hope." 

Father smiled and we continued with our meal. In the next few weeks, more and more regulations were handed down and implemented and we had no way to fight it. 

Rules and regulations grew tighter as the weeks continued and constantly travel documents were checked. The soldier's had grown even more brutal than before, using whatever method they could think of to belittle or abuse us as we tried to continue with daily life. Food was rationed and then the lies came soon after. 

I held onto my younger sister's hand as we walked down the street for some fresh air and I noticed that a large crowd was gathering. I could see soldier's who held their guns tightly to their chest. I couldn't help but get closer and to find out what so going on. A tall man, reasonably young and good looking stood before everyone and he was dressed like an officer. 

"In due course we will implement a relocation to the East for your own safety." The officer told everyone. "Poland shall become your home with some patience. There will be adequate housing, a better selection of food and work for those who wish to work. In time we will have moved your entire community and you shall remain a family. Relocations can happen at any time, so please be prepared for guests who are doing their best."

Murmuring and loud whispers could be heard amongst the crowd and one man at the front had grown angry and was openly challenging the soldiers. I held onto Frida Frida tightly as some other members of the crowd embraced their own feelings towards the latest change. 

"You come into our homes and ship us off to someone se don't know?" The man argued. "It is ridiculous to even ask this of our people."

"You have no choice!" The officer barked back. "Relocation is to expand our great Reich and families will be selected for the transportations. You will have your communities and livelihoods within your own community and you will have a much prosperous life."

It was later I realised that the German officer had been lying for the sake of peace and were manipulating us all into a false sense of security. 

"What if we do not want to leave?" The same man called out. 

The officer motioned to two of the armed soldiers who were there for crowd control and his own protection. They pushed their way into the crowd and grabbed the older man and dragged him to the front so everyone could see. They held him in a tight grip so he couldn't resist or get away. 

"You misunderstand my orders, Jew." The officer told him and he was loud enough so everyone could hear. "Relocation and resettlement is not a choice you have." 

We all watched in horror as the German officer took his gun from his belt and aimed it at the man's head. A thundering crack. The man was dead. Gasps, cries, people praying was all we could hear in the crowd. As if nothing had happened, the officer holstered his weapon and addressed us. 

"This is not a choice. Be ready." He walked away from the crowd with his soldiers following him.

The crowd gathered around the body of the old man and the praying and gasping and the crying hadn't stopped. Two younger men decided to take the body on their cart to his family. I held my sister close because I didn't want her to see death. 

The new decree went around the community quicker than any other story or rumour before and when we returned home, I didn't need to tell mother or father what had happened because they knew. Mother hugged us both tightly and told us that we were to never challenge the soldiers and to never leave the house without someone older. I thought I was old enough, but I knew it was worry and fear that had made mother so jumpy in the following days. 

Within a week, nine families had been quickly loaded into trucks and taken away with only suitcases and what belongings they could carry. Their homes had become empty and then there were whispers of the German officers or higher ranking soldiers moving in and taking and keeping what possessions were left by the families. Thankfully we hadn't seen any of this personally, but we soon would. 

We were woken after midnight by loud bangs outside and we rushed to the windows to see what was happening. A truck of soldier's rushed into one of the buildings across the street and the banging continued as another two trucks screeched to a halt. We ran to the sitting room window where our parents were standing, peeking through the curtains. The banging continued and the soldiers were barking orders. Five or ten minutes passed and we saw a stream of families who were known to us, being ushered out of the building with suitcases and as much of their possessions that they could carry. A pram and a wheelbarrow was used for carrying large objects. Five families from the block of apartments were brought into the street where their papers were checked. The Bachman's, the Depperschmidt's, the Gleim's, the Katzenmeyer's and the Paulin's stood like scared sheep with the soldiers watching them carefully. Old Mr Gleim was animated as he angrily spoke to his family and was suddenly dragged from his family, who screamed and protested. His grandson Otto tried to push the soldier to save his grandfather and ended up standing against the wall with him. Mr Gleim took Otto's hand and then there was gunfire. Not two single bullets, but dozens of bullets from a machine gun ravaged their bodies and the shooting didn't stop until they had fallen, lifeless to the ground. The rest of the Gleim family wailed and screamed as they were forced into the trucks and their newly deceased relatives were left behind. As quick as the soldiers came, they were gone and behind them they had left empty homes, broken hearts and fear. 

In the following weeks more and more families were removed from their homes and transported to wherever the Germans were sending them. But in the meantime, we lived more or less as we had done. Since schooling for the Jews had been forbidden, my eldest sister had been spending time teaching younger children at the synagogue and was praised for her efforts alongside the local teachers. Mother and I mended clothes as best as we could and the stories we overheard of families going missing during the night frightened us. We couldn't understand why we were being forcibly removed from our homes after already losing so much, then the rumour grew that German officers were moving into the recently emptied homes and were stealing the previous owner's valuables. But what hurt more was the fact that our gentile neighbours were also benefiting from our persecution. 

We had just sat down to dinner on a Thursday evening when we heard the trucks and cars rumble into the street. The clatter of footsteps seemed closer than what we expected and then the door to our apartment cracked under the butt of a rifle. 

"Jews! Jews! Open the door!" A man cried through the door and then they let themselves in. "Jews! Collect your things." 

"Where are we going?" Father had asked. 

"Relocation to the east. Hurry, pack your things and take enough food for the trip." One soldier told us. 

In a blur, mother and father packed clothes into suitcases with some of our valuables and photographs and made us all wrap up warmly. I remember watching two of the soldiers as they showed interest in a crystal decanter and glasses, one of them suggested taking it and the other told him that the valuables were to remain for whoever would newly occupy our house. I held onto my sister as I tried to run around the apartment to help my parents and siblings. More layers were put on us, small valuables had already been sewn and hidden and I heard mother cry when one of the soldier's knocked over a vase that belonged to her grandmother. Finally, we were led out into the street and forced into trucks with only the belongings we could carry and I had never seen father so concerned as he sat, holding mother's hand. Other Jewish families from the same street were put into the same truck. 

"Where are we going?" A woman demanded to know. "Where are they taking us?" 

"They are relocating us to the east." A young man in his twenties told her. 

"Nonsense." A bearded man quipped. "Do you not hear of the Ghettos where they trap us like rats?! It is ignorant to think that we will be treated fairly and you have all seen the beatings and executions in the square." 

"Enough!" Father barked. "There are women and children and you're frightening them. We shall see what happens when we get whenever we are going to and that shall be the end of it." 

The old man twisted his face in anger and remained silent and all that could be heard from the truck were muffled sobs, cries and pleas. I sat holding my sister and reassured her that everything would be alright. Little did I know that we would be trapped like rats and be treated appalingly.

It took several hours to get to where we were being relocated and it felt like we had been in the truck for days. Very little food was eaten and there was no bathroom. A little boy at the other end of the truck had soiled himself and the stench lingered for the entire journey. The truck came to a stop and father had reasoned that we would soon be let out and the fresh air was welcomed by everyone after sitting in a humid truck, in the dark with the odour of urine and excrement. We were herded together with people from other trucks and shepherded into a group, where armed soldiers stood watching us. A soldier in dress uniform used a speaking trumpet. 

"Good morning." He instantly grabbed everyone's attention. "I hope your journey here to Warsaw has not been too difficult and you will be pleased to know that this is where you have been relocated. A city within a city. A place for Jews to live as one. You will have your own homes and you will have food and work within your Jew city. We have done this to stop the violence and to have a stronger community together. Please, go through the gate and members of the Jewish Council will assign you to your new homes. And like every other city and town there will be rules and laws that must be followed while you live here. I wish you all a very comfortable time here." 

Soldier's directed us through iron gates and I had noticed that there were walls of stone surrounding the new Jewish city. Secured fences with barbed wire and soldiers carrying guns and walking ferocious dogs walked the perimeter. Father had his reservations about the city within a city, caged in like a wild animal. But the soldier on the trumpet made everything sound so rational and conforting. 

A group of older men dressed in suits greeted everyone and assigned younger men and boys to help with carrying luggage, then each man called out a family's name and they were taken to their new home. Our name was finally called and a man took us to an apartment building through a makeshift market and certainly the city appeared to be normal and livable. Yet, there was a feeling that something could go wrong and I had been correct later on. We were given keys and told to make our apartment as comfortable as we would like and then the man left us to settle in. 

"It isn't much but we will have it homely in no time." Mother said optimistically. "It just needs some care and attention." 

"Yes, we will make it comfortable as our old home." Father agreed. 

"Rina, you and your sisters will need to share a room and the boys can use the smaller room." Mother said as she started opening suitcases. "Here, go to the market and buy some food for this evening and we shall go again tomorrow." 

I took the money and wandered down dozens of streets until I found the market. I picked up bread, jam and honey and some vegetables and some meat and as I was trying to find my bearings, I saw something that I could never have imagined. A thin woman wearing rags, begging for money with a baby in her arms. I found it strange and bizarre that in our settlement someone was having to plead with strangers, especially when the market stalls had plenty of food and the shops across the street had butchers, bakers, barbers and dressmakers. I returned to our new home and mother had it looking much better than before. She had hung curtains, put a table cloth on the scratched table and displayed family photos. Our new apartment would soon feel like home and we would try and live how we had done before we were moved to Poland.


End file.
